A New Memory



We rode into the future in search of the past. Desperately trying to remember that first ride on a bike, with a boy, if you could call him that, who is as distant from my memories as that bike ride. It was when I wore my hair in a long plait, when dresses were puff sleeved and covered more than they do now. It was also a time when games weren’t about slicing fruits or running away from a monster while collecting gold. These were days of playhouses and run and catches. They were the days I love the most, when I was just a little girl.

Today, I’m grown up. Not as grown up as most people, but older than I was when Kumara broke all rules to win our hearts. I don’t remember that day, and the fragments of that memory will now never, count as my first bike ride. The first for me would be the one I went on recently. Too recent for me to be able to forget the tiniest details about that day.

I didn’t care if my memory of Kumara will get lost behind this memory in the making when I got on the bike. It was something I can’t remember doing, and the task of not embarrassing myself seemed more important than worrying about remembering that long ago day. As I held on to the bony shoulders of the one who even unknown to him maybe, had my life in his hands, I got used to the wind in my face, the feeling of nothing mattering anymore. I got lost in my thoughts as we passed streets and buildings, crept through vehicles and sped away from a typical day.

Then I tried to close my eyes, to really enjoy and absorb that feeling. My psychology teacher once told me that our senses are more active when less of them are used. This is why a silent bath with your eyes closed is more enjoyable and soothing. The skin gets to feel more. I wanted to feel that as the heat of the sun warmed us but didn’t burn us. It was too overwhelming though and my eyes open, I started getting used to the thrill of actually being on a bike. Then I started to drown in my thoughts. I feared this experience would make my memory of Kumara hide in a dark corner of my mind.

Memory, you see, is a complicated thing. Each memory is like a snapshot on a transparent paper. And as the memories gather, some get stuck together. These separate sheets become one. The fragments of two memories, years apart can become one. Not always can you tear apart the sheets that are stuck together.

When my cousin brother reminded me of our pet goat, who to him was black and a gentle creature, I thought nothing of it. I later remembered my cousin was born years after the goat passed away. There was also the issue of the goat being white. The stories he had heard about the goat had become a memory to him. I still can’t understand the color, maybe his memory of our black dog became one with that memory of the goat. None of this can be helped though. Memories change, they fade away.
Sometimes, they are too treasured to die. My memory of Kumara, whatever is left of it, won’t fade away completely because of the new memories that can replace it. Maybe my recent bike ride, the one I will always consider my first, is not too far away in the past yet. No matter what the reason though, as we rode into the future, I didn’t find the answers I looked for. Instead I found a new memory to treasure.

http://www.nation.lk/edition/lifestyle/item/17433-a-new-memory.html

A slight continuation of http://causepigscanfly.blogspot.com/2013/04/learning-to-let-go.html

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